Quietly Walking Back From The Dead
by johnsarmylady
Summary: Sherlock learns something surprising about Sally Donovan! Rated K


**Disclaimer: I own nothing but my original story line.**

"No!" Sherlock was frantic, trying to force his way past Lestrade and Donovan, into the rubble of what had been, just a short while ago, a shelter for the homeless.

"Sherlock," Greg Lestrade held on to the younger man's arm, trying to quietly reason with him. "You can't go in there. It's unstable, and if there is any chance at all that John is alive you may well jeopardise his chances of survival."

The cold logic behind that statement stopped him in his tracks, and he stood, shoulders slumped, one thin artistic hand running through his curly hair.

"At least you have hope – that was more than you left him with three years ago" Sally Donovan added.

Sherlock turned to snarl a response but his attention was captured by the expression on her face. She looked sad, and almost tearful. He frowned.

"Look," she explained quietly "When… well, when you jumped, John was just an empty shell. It was like watching an automaton, he would do the same things, pretty much at the same time every day – you know, don't you, that he visited your grave every day for the first month?" When Sherlock dumbly shook his head, Sally rolled her eyes and continued "Eventually Mrs Hudson and your brother between them persuaded him that it wasn't healthy," she smiled, a little sad smile. "So he agreed to only go once a week. He fooled them though – instead of spending an hour or so there every day, he would spend the whole day there, getting his seven hours in all at once!"

"And you know this how?" The consulting detective sounded defensive, but curious.

"Because he told me. At the same time he told me he was going to clear your name, even if it was the last thing on this earth that he managed to do." She waited for the penny to drop.

"Told _you_?" incredulity dropped the deep baritone voice to a whisper.

"Yeah, Sherlock" Greg butted into the conversation. "You see, he couldn't tell me – I was still suspended from duty. I thought he might have gone to Dimmock or one of his team, but no…"

"No, he came to my flat and told me this was what he was going to do, and then he had the nerve to ask for my help."

Sherlock stared at the firemen trying to damp down the flames, and at the paramedics who were treating those people injured as bricks and glass had exploded out onto the pavement – they hadn't yet managed to get to the people inside – but his eyes were unfocussed, trying to envisage what it must have taken for John to turn to the one person he might more readily have blamed for the situation.

"I got to know him quite well over those months that we worked together, learned more about him." A little giggle escaped, dragging Sherlock's attention back to Sally's face. She waggled her eyebrows at him. "You'll probably be pleased to know the situation upset a certain forensics officer"

"I'm not that petty…."

"Yeah, you are" Greg pulled him back as he spoke, making way for another ambulance crew to move towards the wreckage of the building. He opened his mouth to continue, but was interrupted by the Leading Fire Officer.

"Sir, we are starting to make a search of the building now. The initial call said persons reported, do we know how many?"

Lestrade shook his head.

"It's a shelter for the homeless" he explained. "I suppose we should be grateful this happened during the day." He noted the officer's puzzled look. "At night they often have a full complement of twenty beds filled, plus staff, but during the day maybe only four or five…"

"They have a room at the back where they can go to get minor injuries or illnesses treated" Sherlock added "Their doctor, Dr John Watson, he would have been in there…"

The Fire Officer nodded and went back to directing his crew.

A hush fell over the three detectives as, one by one the bodies of the homeless and the shelter staff, equal in death as they had never been in life, were carried from the still smouldering remains. Swallowing down the nausea that threatened to overwhelm them, all three looked at each bundle of pathetic remains, all three fearing the moment they might recognise their friend.

The waiting was almost unbearable. Sherlock stood with his hands at his sides, clenched into tight fists within his leather gloves, Greg had his hands thrust deep into his pockets to stop himself from tearing at his hair, while Sally Donovan just stared at each passing body, one hand over her mouth, her other arm wrapped tightly across her stomach.

Her eyes following the progress of one blanket covered corpse, Sally suddenly gave a shaky gasp. Sherlock turned to the Detective Sergeant, and realised she was staring past him, a look of shock on her face. He spun around, and there, walking quietly up the street, was John, covered in dust, and bleeding from a handful of minor cuts. His arm was round an equally dusty figure, one of his homeless patients. He stopped briefly to hand them into the care of the paramedics, before walking quietly up to his friends.

Sherlock looked down at the ex-soldier.

"John Watson" he said softly "back from the dead!"

**A/N: A call of 'persons reported' for the Fire Brigade means that it is believed people are, or were,**** still in the building when the fire/explosion happened.**


End file.
